STONE: THE COLD HARD FACTS*
A stone
Stands alone
Unmoved
Unmoveable
In stele silence.
Solid but cold
Hard but old
Yet not aging
Rocks of ages
The stuff of idols
Edifices
Statues
Monoliths
Cornerstones
Keystones
Tombstones
Petraglyphs
From you
The Pieta
From you
Rocky
Petrified by
Stone Mountain or
Mt. Rushmore
From you
Avalanche
From you
Lava rocks
Precipices
Points
Pebbles
Ledges
Edges
Stoning
Head stoned
(Goliath of Gath)
Millstones
Neck stoned
Stones of
Kidney and Gall
Stone cold
Sober
Stoned
Tripping
Rolling stones
May gathering no moss
But they sure do
Rock…..
Who rolled away the stone
On chilly Easter morn
Not Pierre, Petros, Peter
With faith not yet reborn?
A house built on rock
A house built on sand
With Christ the living stone
The foundation will stand
* To be read with increasing downhill momentum and crescendo
Nov. 17, 2008
BW3
3 comments:
But the most famous stone still to this day,
Is the stone on the third morning that rolled away.
...Just what I thought about after I got done reading your poem.
Stones! Suiseke?... an art form of Japanese stone appreciation that compliments bonsai arrangements often. Laws on stones! Water from stones and once my scones likened to stones, a plough or weapon, softened not even in hot coffee. Missed a Grateful Dead Concert maybe -- don't recall -- after eating a stoning brownie as in Dylan's "everybody must get stoned...."
In Venezuela on Montania Victoria not able to sleep in the early dark morning I once sat on a gray round stone about the size of a VW and watched a cloud pour through stone craggy twin peaks just up above me. A skinny cock crowed and so dark it was I was startled with goosebumps even after seeing him nearby perched in a shrubbery. The cloud doing a pouring over the high crags hugging them and then out above me was awesome but when the dawn light backlit 'em it was gone out of the ball park experience to me. After a while the sparkling fiery cloud moved on down a smooth rock ground surrounding us and into the lower jungle where moving figures in white emerged... Venezuelan Indians in bleached white clothes coming up towards the little church next to the parsonage for worship. It was the stone of awesome visuals. Then later the preacher told me the path leading from under it going up the mountain into the crags was made in an earthquake which shook said stone loose to go rolling and it stopped where I sat 5 yards from his parsonage where he and his family huddled in prayer that night's incredible incident of not being killed by stone rolling helterskelter like a bowling ball but stopped before the pins oddly. Before I could hop down for church his wife came out and caught the rooster and wrung it's neck while smilling up at me on that stone and plucked it for lunch stew... not stone stew. I hope sharing my stone story is OK? Not gouche I hope... just taken back there by your poem. Thanks.
Ben,
I must add about the above:
that wonderfully once rolling but then stopped stone became the stone of awesome visuals, a grace filled marker and darn'd good victuals. Pastor Domingo's wife! Maria's homemade salsa on chicken stew over rice was very nice.
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